


Skin Stars

by Izupie



Series: No Touching. (Unless....) [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: But Only In A Way That's Allowed, Denial of Feelings, Drawing On Your Best Friend? Allowed, Eddie's Freckles, Fluff, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Secret Crush, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24591943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izupie/pseuds/Izupie
Summary: Eddie doesn't think his freckles have got anything to do with Ben's book about stargazing, but Richie's mind connects things in mysterious ways, and he'll do anything to cheer up his best friend.If he has to touch him to draw on him, and if Eddie kind of likes it, well....This pen better wash off.--------------------------------------Eddie rolled his eyes. “Fine. But if you draw a dick on my arm, I’ll draw one on your face.”“Deal.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: No Touching. (Unless....) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777648
Comments: 14
Kudos: 139





	Skin Stars

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired directly by some adorable Reddie fanart by [Megidolan](https://megidolan.tumblr.com/) on tumblr - [Here](https://megidolan.tumblr.com/post/618666635529732096/connect-the-dots).
> 
> I thought I'd write a teeny tiny drabble just about this scene and then it ended up as an entire fanfic. Whew. Why am I like this ahaha a a 
> 
> I struggled to find the tone of this one at first, but I persevered and now I really like it. Please let me know what you think? I have a whole bunch of oneshots themed around Eddie and Richie touching-but-not-really-because-this-is-allowed so hopefully I'll be posting those soon too.

“Oh, hello Eddie.”

“Hi, Mrs Tozier, is Richie in-”

 _“Mom!”_ came a muffled screech from the floor above them. _“Is Eddie at the door?”_

 _“Yes!”_ Eddie replied for himself, trying to match Richie’s volume.

_“Thanks mom, tell him to come up!”_

“That _was me_ , you a-” Eddie stopped himself short and turned to Richie’s mom, a tall slender woman with wavy black hair, a gently sloping nose and kind eyes. She was smiling and shaking her head. “Uh, sorry Mrs Tozier. Thanks. See you later.”

Eddie scrambled up the staircase noisily. He thought he caught her mumbling something about ‘teenage boys’ as he went.

The door to Richie’s room was shut. The door handle was actually newer than the door itself, because of the time Richie held on to it while Eddie swung the door open and closed. The whole thing fell off. There was a cluster of tiny holes in the wood above the handle where Richie had gone through a phase of pinning offensive posters to it, even though his dad ripped them down every time. He always said he was planning on buying some more when he’d saved up enough money, but he kept using all his spare change at the arcade. Eddie decided to ask Bev where he could get some for Richie’s next birthday or something, the next time she rang.

When Eddie finally opened the door, Richie was lying on his bed - flat on his front - with his head propped up with his elbows, leaning over a comic book. Eddie's eyes were instantly drawn to the stripy pink shirt he was wearing, and his jeans were ripped at the knees where they were bent, but Richie always seemed to make it work. (Eddie adjusted his well-worn fanny pack a little self-consciously.) His feet were swinging back and forth in the air behind him, one red sock, one green, and it made him look like a traffic light. Go. Stop. Go. Stop. He sat up as soon as he noticed Eddie in the doorway and pushed his glasses back up his nose, beaming a smile that made Eddie’s chest feel tight. “Spaghetti!"

Eddie frowned.

"It took you so long to get up here I thought my mom had kidnapped you or something.”

“Yeah, she just couldn't resist me, but we were quick, didn’t want you to overhear,” Eddie snapped back, because of the nickname, and because… just _because_. “And don’t call me spaghetti.” He always felt kind of weird whenever he used a 'your-mom' joke, because it was garbage level humour, but it was also kind of Richie's 'thing' and he always found it funny whenever Eddie threw one back at him.

Richie snorted with amusement, either oblivious or undisturbed by Eddie’s waspish tone, and it made something small and proud glow within him at the laugh. “Sure thing, Eds,” he finally replied with a sly smile, using the other nickname for him.

_“Ugh.”_

That small warmth flared.

Eddie picked his way to the bed, stepping carefully over piles of discarded shirts and jeans. (And other items of clothing he didn’t want to think about.) He eventually stopped in front of Richie and folded his arms. “Where’s Bill anyway? Shouldn’t he be here by now?”

“Oh, yeah, he bailed.”

“He _what?_ Okay, how about Stan?”

“Nope.”

“Mike? Ben?”

“Uh, no. Bailed too.” Richie shrugged.

“What!”

“I know right? How’s everyone so busy all the time?” Richie flicked a hand into the air and put on an extra whiny voice, “Where’s the love for Richie and Eddie, huh? This would never have happened if my Marsh-mallow was still here.”

Eddie rolled his eyes as he took a seat on the bed beside Richie. “What is it with you and foody nicknames?”

“Maybe I’m just always hungry,” he replied simply.

“Or painfully unoriginal,” Eddie scoffed.

“Can’t I be both?”

Eddie felt himself smile before he could hide it. Which only made Richie beam back at him. It made Eddie's chest feel tight, but there was probably a lot of dust in Richie’s room, and all of that was probably sitting heavily on his lungs. Eddie tried to clamp down on the sudden thought of dust mites and dead skin particles floating in the air, but he shuddered despite himself.

“Y’know, if you’re gonna to get cold wearing shorts maybe you should think about wearing something longer.” Richie’s gaze dipped down to Eddie’s bare legs as he spoke, and Eddie shuffled self-consciously. Richie snapped his head back up with a loud laugh while he rubbed his palms on his jeans. He was still smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes anymore. “Well that’s what happens when your mom still picks out your clothes for you. She just wants to show off your matchstick legs all the time I guess.”

Eddie’s eyebrows drew together sharply. “Hey- what the fuck Richie!”

“Just telling the truth Spaghetti,” Richie said in a weird voice that Eddie couldn’t place. He pushed his glasses back up his nose again and leaned back with his hands on the bed.

“Well at least all my clothes are clean,” Eddie snapped, with a wrinkle of his nose. “I don’t just throw on whatever I put my hands on in the morning- like, how long does all this stuff stay on your floor anyway?”

Richie chuckled, but again it was like the sound wasn’t quite right.

Eddie had started to notice that sometimes when they hung out, just the two of them, Richie would get this look in his eyes like he was thinking too hard or something. Like he was conflicted. The look he got when he was asked what flavour of pizza he wanted. But darker. They’d smile and joke and things would be like they always were, but then he’d make a comment, or they’d roughhouse, or he’d just _look_ over at him and he’d close off. Eddie didn’t get it. As soon as he’d found out the others weren’t coming, he’d been worried it was going to happen again.

What was going on with him lately?

“Do you know how much dead skin and stale sweat stays in your dirty clothes?” Eddie rattled on. “ _Full_ of bacteria, just sitting and stewing on your bedroom floor. It smells like the sewers in here.”

“So it smells like your mom’s va-”

Eddie interrupted by taking a loud breath through his nose. “Nope. Nuh-uh. I’m bailing too.”

He’d only meant to stand up as a joke – a warning that Richie taken it too far – but he’d barely got to his feet when something warm attached itself to his wrist and he felt a tug. He froze. When he turned around Richie’s eyes were even larger than usual behind his glasses - wide open as if he’d surprised himself. He was leaning forwards on the bed, with his long fingers wrapped around Eddie’s wrist, though not with any pressure or tightness – just enough for Eddie to feel them there. His hand was warm. A little sweaty. Richie’s large bright eyes locked onto his, but then he suddenly seemed to remember what he was doing, and he looked down at where he was still holding on. He let go so fast it was like he’d been burned.

“Shit, sorry.” Richie laughed, but the sound was a little weak, and the smile he was wearing didn’t reach his eyes at all.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie said with a sigh, sitting back down heavily on the bed next to Richie. “You’re an asshole that can’t stop himself from taking a bad joke too far, I know.”

(Had he been apologising for the joke, or for reaching out? Eddie wasn’t sure.) Richie’s smile stretched wider into something more like himself at Eddie’s tone, and he smiled back. _He’s so weird_ , he thought with a rush of something fluttery low in his stomach.

“Running my mouth is my gift to the world,” Richie continued in a grand voice, clasping his hands over his chest. “Sometimes the truth just tumbles out of me before I can stop it.”

Definitely more like the trashmouth he was used to.

“Gift?” Eddie pushed onto his shoulder playfully. “To the world?” He laughed loudly and narrowed his eyes. “Then how come it’s just me that has to put up with your endless jokes?”

“Well that’s easy, Eds, you’re just my best audience.”

The heat that rose into Eddie’s cheeks made him unable to process any kind of come-back to that. 

“And, look, I’m uh- I am sorry about…” Richie continued, gesturing to his wrist. “Y’know.”

“Richie,” Eddie said seriously, turning on the bed to look at him fully, even though Richie kept his bright eyes locked just past him at a spot over his shoulder. “Just last week you wrestled me to the ground because I stole the last piece of popcorn out of your bowl.”

“It was the one I’d saved with all the extra toffee sauce on,” Richie sulkily explained again, like he hadn’t been screeching it repeatedly into Eddie’s ear while they’d been tussling on the floor.

Eddie had refused his own bowl from Mrs Tozier, on account of wanting to keep his teeth cavity-free into adulthood, but he’d stolen a few pieces from Richie’s bowl of course. That’s just the way they were. Buy each other ice-creams. Share snacks. Richie knew to hold the bowl at an angle that meant Eddie could dip his hand in when he wanted a piece. But he’d already called dibs on that specific piece because of all the sauce on it, so when it was the last one left in the bowl, something inside Eddie just made him dive forwards and pop it straight into his mouth. The result was Richie pouncing on him and trying to prise his mouth open to get it back. He’d virtually swallowed the damn thing whole just to have the satisfaction of doing it, regardless of the choking risks.

Richie and Eddie. Normal stuff for them.

Richie had never been sheepish about touching him. And bizarrely, he was one of the only people Eddie didn’t mind the touch _of_. Despite his lack of personal hygiene and terrible jokes. He was just… _Richie_ … and he was tactile and that’s just what they did.

To see him like this over something as simple as holding his wrist… it didn’t make any sense.

Richie lowered his gaze and opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it again and his eyebrows dropped low. “Hey, what’s wrong with your arm?”

Eddie jumped and reflexively took hold of it, pulling it out of his view as if he could hide it. “Nothing!”

Richie leaned across him and gently, but firmly, pulled his arm between them both. There was some redness just poking out from beneath his shirt sleeve, and when Richie pulled it up the angry raw red blotch on his skin was plain to see.

“What the fuck Eddie?”

“Don’t!” Eddie hissed, trying to pull his arm away. Richie immediately let go.

His expression darkened. “Did _she_ …?”

“No! Nothing like that! My mom- she wouldn’t actually- she’s a psycho but-” Eddie took a deep breath. “She wouldn’t actually _hurt_ me Richie.”

Richie looked unconvinced. That was fair.

"It's not- it's nothing bad."

Richie seemed to relax a little at that, and reached out gently for his arm again. Eddie let him take it.

"Look, it's just..." Eddie rubbed a hand over his face. “This is going to sound really dumb.”

Richie opened his mouth.

“Don’t even think of making a joke to that!” Eddie interrupted him immediately, using the arm Richie wasn’t holding to slice his hand through the air.

“But Eddie, you gave me the gift of an easy one.” Richie pouted, but there was still concern thick in his voice and it was clear in the tug of his eyebrows that he wasn’t going to let this go.

It was the genuine worry he could see in him that really affected Eddie. They were always joking around with each other, but there was a bond between them that felt unshakeable.

It was almost scary.

Eddie knew it was childish, but he couldn’t come up with anything better than sticking his tongue out as a response. (It made Richie laugh.) But finally, Eddie sighed again and looked away. “Okay, so, when I was a kid, I thought…” He shook his head and groaned. “This is dumb. This is too dumb. I can’t tell you. You’ll laugh at me.”

Richie gasped, “I would never!” in a voice that sounded like a terrible impression of an outraged British lady.

Eddie levelled a look at him that he thought Stan would be proud of.

Richie still hadn’t let go of his arm. His hands were both very sweaty now. And burning like a brand on his bare skin. A damp brand.

“Okay, maybe sometimes,” Richie added, “but not when it’s important.”

Eddie’s eyebrows impossibly lowered even further.

“Okay, okay,” Richie chuckled, “not when it’s _really fucking important_.”

Eddie smiled, warmed by the Richie-ness of his response. Richie smiled back.

“Alright, but if you laugh, I’m gonna walk out of here and make sure that everyone you ever meet in the future gets told every single embarrassing story I know of you.”

“Yeesh, Eds.”

Eddie scowled.

“Sorry, sorry,” Richie said with a little laugh – not sounding sorry at all. “Go on.”

Eddie was suddenly bashful to reveal even more of his idiosyncrasies to his best friend. It was one thing to know that he had a lot of stuff going on behind the scenes that his friends were unaware of, but it was another to just sit on Richie’s bed and tell him one of them. His anxieties were weird, and they manifested in weird ways. Ever since he’d found out about his fake medication he’d been having a hard time not resorting to it as a way to feel calm, and he’d struggled to cut out that method of coping without pushing it onto something else just as harmful.

“Okay. When I was a kid… I thought that my freckles were just there because my skin was dirty. Like, I thought if I scrubbed hard enough, I could scrub them away.” He looked down at his lap and focused on the feeling of Richie’s slender fingers still on his arm. “So, I would scrub at them until my skin bled sometimes. It was stupid- because obviously they weren’t going to come off no matter how much I scrubbed- but I was always so upset by them… And I- I had a bad dream last night and I guess I just… wanted to feel clean and I scrubbed too hard again. I mean,” he continued rapidly, “I only did it before I realised what I was doing – I just kind of did it without thinking, so it’s nothing to worry about. And I put some cream on it, so it’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

He didn’t know if it meant something that it was the arm that he’d broken back at the house… with the clown… the arm that aches sometimes in the colder weather.

The arm that Richie tried to fix.

The silence in the room had gone on for so long that Eddie peeked up at Richie from under his lashes, his eyes widening as he watched Richie slowly ghost his hand over the skin of his wounded arm.

“Skin stars,” Richie said, while he placed his fingertip down with more pressure and moved it in circles across his freckles.

Eddie had to resist shivering again.

“Uh, what?”

“Skin stars,” Richie repeated. “You know, like, in Ben’s book. The one he tried to show us when we went for a sleepover at Mike’s. Remember how Mike got out that busted up old telescope and Ben tried to teach us how to look for constellations? It was like dot-to-dot in the sky."

“What’s- what’s any of that got to do with freckles?” Eddie couldn’t help but laugh - he was used to Richie’s mind jumping to random topics before he properly explained what he was talking about, and he was usually good at following the conversation jumps, but now he was drawing a blank. He narrowed his eyes, bemused. “Didn’t you tell him stargazing was for nerds?”

“Yeah,” Richie snorted. "But some of what he said made sense.” Richie waved his hand at the ceiling. (Eddie was kind of disappointed he’d stopped drawing the lines on his arm.) “So I’m practically an expert at stargazing now.”

“Sure, okay.”

“Oh, wait!” Richie let go of Eddie’s arm altogether (he definitely felt a pang of disappointment at the loss of contact) then he jumped off the bed and ran to his desk. He rummaged through the pile of dirty laundry also sitting on top of it (how had Richie got any clean clothes left at all? Eddie dreaded to think) and pulled out a blue pen with a triumphant, “Aha!”.

When he launched himself back down onto the bed he was on Eddie’s other side. He pulled one leg up to plant a foot on the bed while the other hung over the edge, and he gently tugged at Eddie’s shoulders, so that he was turned into the space he’d made. So they were facing each other. Closely.

Eddie blinked in confusion and tried not to overanalyse the weird beating of his heart.

(It’s just his body trying to process all the dust and shit from Richie’s gross dirty room.)

Richie beamed at him, then went to place the pen to his uninjured arm.

“Hey!” Eddie yanked his arm away, cradled it, and scowled. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Richie held both hands up in the air like a caught criminal. “It’s washable, I swear.” He wrote _‘Eddie Spaghetti’_ on the inside of his wrist, then jumped back up, ran out of the room and settled himself back into the same position as before. “My mom got sick of me drawing on myself with pen all the time,” he explained quickly, “said it was embarrassing to see my arms covered in ‘tasteless doodles’ or whatever.” He’d pitched his voice up into a perfect impression of his mom’s _I’m-annoyed-with-you-Richard-voice_ (as they’d named it).

“So she got me this special pen, and it comes straight off with this. Watch.” Richie was holding a bottle of blue liquid that he splashed onto his wrist and rubbed with his own shirt. It did indeed come straight off. “As if by magic!”

“That is kinda cool,” Eddie admitted, “but isn't that just makeup remover? You smell like a girl.”

“Eddie, you literally use shampoo that makes you smell like a bunch of flowers threw up on you.”

Eddie gasped. “That’s _medicated_ shampoo, asshole. It doesn’t come in any other smell – and y’know what? I’d rather smell like that – which is nice, actually, by the way – it’s called ‘summer garden’ – than have an itchy scalp full of dandruff like yours.”

Richie howled with laughter and rubbed vigorously at his growing, messy curls. Eddie shrieked, but he didn’t move away from his position between Richie’s legs.

“I’m just making sure there’s enough of me around that when they perfect cloning they can use my DNA as the test subject.”

“Ugh, two Richies? No thanks.”

Richie wiggled his eyebrows. “Yeah, your mom’d love it. Twice the fun.”

“You’re fucking disgusting, Rich.”

Richie fell forwards laughing, clutching his stomach with one hand and keeping himself upright with another hand on Eddie’s knee. Eddie could never help but smile when he made Richie laugh like that.

No matter how disgusting he was.

“Okay, okay, come on, just let me do this and I’ll wash it straight off after. The smell of your shampoo means you won’t even notice the makeup remover smell.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Fine. But if you draw a dick on my arm, I’ll draw one on your face.”

“Deal.”

Eddie suddenly had a flash of what that scenario would look like in his mind: Richie proudly yelling ‘ta-da!’ and him shrieking and leaping on him on the bed to wrestle the pen away and draw on his face. It was an image of laughter and limbs.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed Richie gently pull his sleeve up. His breath hitched weirdly as one of Richie’s hands slid down the length of his arm and stopped at his wrist, gently, gently holding it steady. Richie bent closer to the skin he was going to draw on, just below where his sleeve was now scrunched up by his shoulder, and he placed the tip of the pen on a freckle.

It was kind of nice actually, as it glided over his skin. Just little points of brief pressure. Richie’s hand stayed holding onto his wrist, just like he had been before, except this time it was in purpose of something. He was just holding his arm steady. That’s all. Eddie felt extremely confused by the desire to shift his hand up and hold it in his own. He’d only have to move it a little.

Some small voice inside him was yelling internally about ink poisoning through his skin and about how much his mom would freak out if she saw what was happening. She’d probably cry if she saw someone draw on him like this, especially if she knew that person was Richie, who she openly disapproved of. But Eddie was nestled into this small space of just the two of them in Richie’s bedroom like it always was and always should be – and he found it easy to tune out the voice.

Richie’s gaze was focused so intensely on his task that Eddie was looking straight at him and it was like he wasn’t even there. It was odd, being given this kind of freedom to just _look_. Richie’s pale cheeks seemed a little pink. Just a little. A casual kind of smile rested on his lips as he drew slowly, connecting dots of freckles together with seemingly random lines here and there. His glasses were reflecting the light from his bedroom window, but his eyes were a pretty, greenish colour underneath. And his curls really were messy today.

Eddie felt himself frowning. But he could feel warmth on his nose and high on his own cheeks.

This felt kind of dumb, but…

Richie looked like he was having fun.

The grip on his wrist shifted slightly as Richie turned his arm over a little to get to the underside. He hadn’t ever really noticed just how many freckles he’d got until someone was connecting them together with pen.

Finally, Richie lifted the pen away. “Done!”

His hand remained on Eddie’s wrist for a long moment as he examined his own work. Richie’s long pale fingers were soft against his skin.

Then they were gone.

Eddie turned to look at what he’d done.

It was… actually kind of pretty.

“So,” Richie began in a high, breathy excited voice, “so this is a dog, see? That line is the head, that’s the body and that’s the tail.” His fingers skimmed over each line as he pointed them out across the cluster of freckles that he’d drawn constellations over.

“It doesn’t have any legs.”

“Nah, he doesn’t need any. He’s got like, invisible legs from the lab experiment he was in that went wrong. So, they’re there, you just can’t see ‘em.”

Eddie felt his frown twitch into a smile.

“And this one here is a stick.”

“That’s just a line,” Eddie said through a giggle.

“Easy to get them confused, but it’s a _stick._ Trust me. Oh- shit, wait…”

“Wait? What?”

Richie picked the pen back up and squinted at it. “I picked up the wrong pen. This is the _permanent_ one.”

Even though he’d had already seen Richie wash it off, Eddie’s heart instantly leapt into his throat in sheer panic. “What!? Fuck Richie! My mom will _kill_ me – what the fuck – oh. Oh my god. Ha ha. Very funny.” Eddie’s voice was dripping with sarcasm as he slapped at the hand holding the pen.

Richie practically guffawed. “Admit it Eds,” he eventually managed, “that was kinda funny.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a real comedian.” Eddie knew he was smiling, so his words contained no actual bite when he added, “And don’t call me Eds.”

Richie calmed down and looked down at his hands. “If I did – get into comedy I mean – stand up and stuff. Would you come see me?” Everything about Richie’s voice and body language was trying to scream _I’m-so-fucking-casual-about-this_ , but there was something about him that Eddie just knew was being serious. He looked into his eyes, the boy that had just been drawing constellations in his freckles because he had been rubbing at them enough to hurt himself, and he just knew.

“Duh,” Eddie said. “Who else’d be sitting in the front row heckling the shit out of you?”

Richie beamed. “I would love that.”

“And I’ll be able to tell everyone that famous comedian Richie Tozier drew constellations on my ‘skin stars’ once.”

“Are you kidding? I’ll be on stage telling everyone that guy on the front row there let me draw on him and that I…”

Eddie didn’t realise he’d mimicked Richie’s pose while they’d been talking, and their knees were pressed together in their proximity. Richie was always pale, but he suddenly went even paler – the colour drained out of his cheeks and he blinked his large looking eyes a few times as if he had no idea what he was about to say.

Eddie had never seen Richie fumble like that.

“That I...?” Eddie echoed.

“That I’m in love with his mom,” Richie burst out, too loudly, too obnoxiously, finishing with a large laugh.

Eddie made a disgusted sound and rolled his eyes. “I already don’t think I’ll find your shows funny.”

“That’s why I need you there to heckle me. You bring out my best jokes.”

Eddie smiled at that, a big genuine smile that split his face and pinched his cheeks up.

Richie mirrored his expression exactly.

Eventually he reached over for the bottle of makeup remover, and Eddie shook his head. “Uh, no, that’s okay. I want to keep it like this for a while.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I want you to tell me more of the constellations you did.”

Richie brightened and leaned close again, running his finger across more of the lines. “This one here looks a bit like a bear.”

“I can kinda see that…”

“I call it _The Eddie Bear._ ”

“Oh my god.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at [Izupie](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/izupie) if you want to yell about Reddie with me~


End file.
